


But Broken Live On

by HopefulNebula



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death (referenced/implied), Moving On, Post-Canon, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/pseuds/HopefulNebula
Summary: Five Midsummers, five things Will and Lyra take with them to the bench.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	But Broken Live On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maybetwice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/gifts).



> Housekeeping note: this fic does contain references to The Secret Commonwealth, but I've done my best to keep them minimal. They're also all contained to part 5 of this story. None of the references should dampen your enjoyment of the book if you haven't read it yet, and not having read the book shouldn't dampen your enjoyment of the fic.

**-1-**

Lyra knows better than to turn down an invitation from a king. Thankfully, this particular king is already a friend of hers, and Serafina promises to get her back to Saint Sophia's in time for Midsummer, so she doesn't need to be convinced to go.

She isn't sure what exactly to expect, though. Why go through the witches? Why now?

When she arrives on Svalbard, Iorek is there to greet her. She bows her head, and he sniffs it. Without preamble, he says "Good. Now we can begin," and leads her to the forge deep in the heart of the bears' fortress.

They barely have time to reach their positions in what seems like a viewing area, when the other door bursts open and a bear announces:

_"RASMUS IOREKSON."_

Oh.

For hours they all watch as Rasmus paws through the piles of metal, choosing the most suitable pieces and shaping them as if they were made of clay instead of sky-iron. For hours the heat from the flames warms their faces. For hours Lyra and Pan don't even think of moving.

When the sun gets as low as it can for the time of year, and Rasmus finally leaves his new armor to finish cooling, Lyra blinks the sweat from her eyes and looks up.

"Thank you, Iorek Byrnison."

Iorek grunts in response and ambles over to the scrap heap, searching around until he finds his target. With one great paw, he bats a piece of metal toward her. It's slightly smaller than a chicken's egg, but when she picks it up she's startled by its mass. She guesses that it weighs about a pound.

As soon as the stone is in her pocket, Pan dashes from Lyra's side and stands on his back legs in front of the bear-king. Iorek bends down, nearly touches his nose to Pan's, and says to both of them: "Come. We have much to discuss."

Nearly a month later, Lyra takes her gift to the bench, and spends the afternoon considering what worlds such metal might have come from.

**-2-**

He gave most of the knife to Mary, shortly after they returned to this world. As Will understands it, one of the blunter pieces now lives in her lab as a paperweight, and the rest are in her safe deposit box.

But this one, Will's kept for himself.

He doesn't take it out very often - that would be too much - but every Midsummer, he brings it to the garden. When nobody else is around, he takes it out of his pocket, unwraps it, and watches how it shimmers in the surrounding light.

It isn't that he plans to _use_ it. He wouldn't if he could; he has no intention of undoing what he's done for the world. For all the worlds. 

Will takes it with him anyway, because it makes the other worlds feel just a little bit closer.

**-3-**

Lyra is tempted to bring her whole box of research scraps with her on Midsummer's Day. She's so close to having everything together, to being able to get it all onto the page as a consistent whole, and it's only Pantalaimon reminding her that she can't replace half of her source material that stays her hand.

Instead, she brings an item that's just as valuable, but harder to break.

She brings Lee Scoresby's compass.

The lid rattles a bit as she carries it - she should see if the groundskeeper will let her borrow a screwdriver - but it's survived far worse than a day in the park.

This year, she talks to Will. She tells him what she's learned researching her thesis, why she chose the topic, how she acquired some of her stranger sources.

Even though she knows he can't hear her, it feels good to be able to talk to somebody who _hasn't_ heard this already. And if it turns out that talking it through gives her some fresh ideas as well, then that's just an unexpected bonus.

**-4-**

The looks Will is getting are almost funny. Almost.

Intellectually, he knows that people are just curious. It's not common to see a young man carrying a lacy shawl on a cold day, and he reckons he's the only one who'd do so on a thirty-degree day in the middle of June.

But the shawl was his mother's. He'd watched her knit it, back when they thought his father could return any day.

He remembers watching her hands move, seeing her loop the yarn around the needles, helping hold the skein as his mother wound it into a ball.

Today, it feels like memories are the only thing he has left.

"Excuse me, may I sit here?" somebody asks.

 _No,_ says his first impulse. _I'm waiting for someone, there's another bench just down the path, just leave me alone._

Kirjava's voice then comes to him, a whisper in his head: _She'd want you to say yes. To remember that you're not alone._

Will nods, and a young woman about his age sits down next to him and opens a small bag. She gets a bottle of water out and takes a drink.

"Thanks," she says. "I'm supposed to be doing a survey of bee populations but... I just need to sit for a few minutes." She notices the lock of hair that's worked itself out from under her headscarf, and gently tucks it back in. "I'm Amal."

"Will."

"Do you study here? I think I've seen you before."

"Yeah, kind of." Will doesn't really _intend_ to continue, but something compels him to. "I was on leave for spring term. My mother is... was... ill."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replies. "Was that hers?"

Will nods. It's only personal habit that stops him from tearing up. Instead he uses his favorite deflection strategy, and asks a question on a different topic.

"You study bees?"

By the time Amal has to get back to work, they've somehow exchanged phone numbers.

Will is surprised at himself: he doesn't feel like he's dishonored Lyra, or his mother. Instead, he feels like maybe, maybe, he can get through this.

**-5-**

They're not talking to each other, but it's out of choice this time. They just... don't know what to say. What _is_ there to say, when you've been on the second greatest adventure of your life and finally stopped fighting with yourself and the one person you want most to share the story with is on the other side of the bench, an entire universe away?

Pantalaimon curls around Lyra's neck, nuzzling his face against her shoulder. Lyra reaches one hand up to comfort him, and the other one down to rest on the empty half of the bench.

If she concentrates, she can almost feel the ghost of a touch against the back of her hand.

When the sun begins to set, Lyra takes the pocket knife from her satchel and cuts one of the roses from the nearest bush. Without a word, Pan grabs it from her and carries it back to where they were.

"Good," Lyra says as her soul returns to her. "Now let's go home."


End file.
